Mortal Scream (Harbingers of Death Book 1)

by LeAnn Mason

  “What are you smirking about?” Jessica asked as they stalked forward as a team, Cole on point with his baton out, the siren pulling up the rear.

  Their steps were quick and quiet despite the linoleum flooring, which had a tendency to advertise movement from their flimsy shoes with obnoxious squeaking.

  “It’s Cole. I’m coming out with some inmates. They’re not instigators. Don’t shoot!”

  “Cole? We need help, man. Michaels is down!” came a man’s harried reply from down the corridor.

  “Michaels? Where is he?” Cole returned, stepping around the door and into the hall.

  The portly officer acting as an unwitting doorstop, senseless and splayed on the floor, was alive, so the team bypassed him without thought. He wasn’t their concern. Michaels was.

  The alarm was louder, more shrill in the hall, having a tunnel’s amplifying effect on the sound. The swooping red light added a gruesome false bloodiness to the scene. Navy blue, yellow, brown, red, tan… the colors all mingled in a sort of macabre heap strung along the floor, showing the riot for what it was: failure.

  Groans and moans accompanied twitching limbs and writhing bodies. Most were blue, but a couple of tan-clad bodies could be seen as well. Spotting a particularly bloody head topped with what looked to have originally been blond hair, attached to a body in a guard uniform, Raven concluded that they’d found Michaels.

  Cole kneeled, his dark locks swaying around his shoulders. Reaching forward, he felt for a pulse in the man’s neck. “I’ve got him. Check the others in the rec room. We have several officers down though all are alive. We’ve called for backup. Now’s the time to call for medical assistance… assuming the attempt has been quelled,” Cole stated calmly to the other officer, insinuating that the man may not have done his job properly.

  When the officer turned his back to trot away, Cole waved his large, dark hand across the width of the hall, in both directions, effectively hiding his team. They would no longer be noticeable to human eyes. “It’s time,” he rumbled.

  Jessica kneeled, coming to all fours to pull convict bodies from atop Michaels’s broken one. Inhaling deeply, the siren’s body shuddered. “Just a little taste,” she murmured, bending her elbows and bringing her face to Michaels’s bloodied one. A long, supple tongue darted from between plump lips. Only a hint of the rows of razor-sharp teeth filling the beauty’s mouth were visible. With a slow, almost erotic, and definitely savored motion, Jessica licked a line from the man’s chin to his hairline. “Mmm, if only he’d broke something… a bone stickin’ out of flesh would have made for a satisfying meal.” She sat back on her heels, eyes closed in wishful bliss. “What I wouldn’t give to suck the marrow from a bone right about now. I am so sick of the horrible sludge that passes for good eatin’ in this place.”

  “Just make sure you don’t clean him up too much. Might lead to questions,” Raven chastised, looking up and down the hall, her bird anxious. She didn’t like the confined space. Prisons chafed Shifters’ animals.

  “He’s detaching,” Cole snapped the girls back with his terse statement.

  They all watched expectantly as a wispy, watery apparition rose from the dead and mutilated carcass.

  Michaels hovered, bewildered and staring at his former body where it lay bloody and draped among so many others. Those others who were showing renewed signs of life while his lay unmoving. “What…?”

  It always happened, and it always annoyed Raven. “You’re dead, man. We’re here to take you to our boss, who will decide which road you take from there.”

  “Boss…? Which road…?” His ghostly voice had a hollow quality that irked her as much as the alarm did.

  Raven’s head fell back in exasperation. Jessica stalked a sultry, swaying step toward their newest charge, running a cultivated fingernail down his insubstantial chest. Michaels’s form seemed to smoke and split where the siren’s digit made its path.

  The sight splintered his disbelief. “I’m dead?”

  The supernaturals watched dispassionately as the human soul began to fall apart. It seemed to be an inevitable part of the process, and they’d learned not to intervene. Soon enough, it would all sink in. Then, they could finally get out of this hellhole. Hopefully, they’d even have a few weeks before they were needed in the next hell hole.

  Raven could only hope.

  19

  “Let me out! Don’t leave me here!” My throat was scratched raw from the exertion of my belly-deep pleas.

  Barely a noise escaped the room as my fists pounded on the metal, its thickness dampening the soundwaves into a muted tapping. From the hallway, it was probably barely audible to a passing body.

  “Take me with you.” The words panted out on a pitiful, hoarse breath. My hand moved from its attempt at Morse code to cup my throat, eyes closing in despair.

  There was no point peering out the small opaque pane. Even if it provided a clear view of the hall, staring at that one wall was like staring at a turned-off TV.

  Since the involuntary bellow that I was certain pronounced Michaels dead like a town crier, I’d been tearing my vocal cords to shreds with my desperation. Now, I was barely capable of reaching a volume greater than someone suffering from laryngitis.

  No one would hear me now.

  Not that I’d thought anyone would. The racket of caterwauling had faded not long after my initial Death Call had quieted. Some kind of alarm seemed to have taken over the job of shrieking at an ear-splitting decibel. Or at least, I assumed so if I could hear it in this box of isolation.

  There were three options for the silence and accompanying stillness, and none of them benefitted me. One, everyone might have escaped, leaving me alone. Two, everyone might have been subdued and returned to their cells, leaving me alone. Or, three, everyone might be dead, leaving me alone.

  I mean, it was solitary but… How alone?

  Had Cole even told any of the other guards I was here? If Michaels was dead, and he and his team had done what they came for and left, would anyone know I was withering in this vault?

  A sob replaced my next attempt to cry out, and my face mashed into the door, fist pressed into the cold metal. I sank to my knees, chin falling until the crown of my head pressed against the barrier that was essentially a concrete wall for all intents and purposes. A cold loneliness punched me in the gut, and I couldn’t breathe for a moment.

  Crying accomplishes nothing. My father had snapped this one at me during a training session when I’d eaten grass. It reveals your weakness, wastes energy, and distracts your mind from what really matters in that moment.

  I tried to insert the logic into my mental turmoil, to build a support lattice for my hope that was disintegrating. I had to remind myself that I knew how to be alone; I’d done it most of my life.

  What matters right now? My ability to get out of this box someday.

  Regardless of the outcome of the discord, there were protocols. These places were so secure and organized. They must have a procedure for handling upheaval. It’s not like this would be the first occurrence of violence in a prison. Hadn’t my first day taught me as much? No one liked being cooped up.

  Especially birds.

  I snorted and then sniffed to clear my now stuffy nose. Dropping onto a hip, I rolled to press my back against the door, elbows on bent knees, head in my hands. The mirth was fleeting as I realized the irate bird shifter and the god who’d offered me release would be gone. I’d still be stuck in the prison once I was released from solitary.

  For fifteen years.

  Back to square one.

  I’d have to teach myself.

  I had been able to quell the scream in the cell with the girls with a forceful thought. Could I do that again, or had it been a function of my supernatural company? Could that explain why the screams had started up after I’d become an orphan? Without my parents, were the powers more uncontrollable? I’d let this one for CO Michaels peter out naturally—or preternaturally? Had it ended when
his life had this time?

  The scratching of metal-on-metal, a key inserting into the lock, sent me scrambling to my feet. Using the back of my forearm to clear my face as much as I could, I prepared to greet whatever might have come for me.

  They came for me.

  I mashed down the hopeful thought. Not only was it unlikely, but it would be a mistake to let my heart play out fantasies. I needed my sensibility.

  Always go in assuming the worst. Disappointment is as dangerous as overconfidence; both can cause you to slip and allow an enemy to gain control.

  Schooling my expression, I kept my attention on the unknown about to intrude on my known environment. Being a prisoner in solitary confinement, this didn’t bode well for being a friendly visit. Santa was not coming to rescue me with an ice cream cone. I sniffed back any lingering self-pity and curled my hands into fists, ready to go out screaming.

  With a creaking of hinges, my exit stood wide open, revealing the person who’d let me out. My mouth dropped to my chin, my eyes bulging comically.

  Not Cole.

  ◆◆◆

  “Not only is that disgusting, but your noises are hard to conceal,” Cole growled. He tried to block out the sounds of Jessica’s snacking behind him, but it was nearly impossible. Their siren was not a delicate eater.

  “In many eastern Asian communities, slurping is a sign of high praise for the chef,” Raven said, but there was disgust in her voice.

  “He’s so tender,” Jessica moaned. “Thick muscle and just enough fatty lining to really sink your teeth into. A tasty dumplin’.”

  “Just make sure it looks like he’d been shivved, all right? And hurry up, you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on him, not teeth in him.” Cole glanced over his shoulder. The hovering apparition of the guard watched with shock and horror as his flesh was consumed by what almost appeared to be a pinup girl. Jessica paused to check on the spirit, not really caring that he was doing a better job of observing her than she was him. Normally, the task was doubly covered with Ember. Wiping her mouth with the back of her arm only succeeded in smearing the gore onto both places.

  “Well, he understands that he’s dead now. Show and tell, ain’t that right, sugar?” With a flesh-riddled grin, she plucked the guard’s limp arm from the floor and gave the spirit a wave.

  “Don’t agitate him,” Cole groaned. Until their captain arrived, they needed their target to stay calm and stay put. Sometimes, he felt like a babysitter to a bunch of adolescents.

  Raven held her position on the far side of their downed target, paying close heed to the bodies littering the hallway as they began to regain their senses. “Maybe we should let Jess viscerally show our targets that they’re truly dead every time. Skip that whole disbelief argument period. We need to work faster.” At least Cole could depend on Raven to stay on task. Usually.

  To remain attentive on his end of the hallway, Cole turned away, surveilling any changes in the victims of the ill-fated riot, both guard and prisoner. “I’d rather she didn’t damage the bodies. It raises questions. I cannot cloak them after we depart.” When Jessica gave a sad moan, Cole added, “Or at least wait until the target has crossed over.”

  The hellhound wanted to step between the man and his corpse as the siren finished her ministrations by stabbing a pointy nail through the man’s belly and tearing, an attempt to cover her tracks.

  He’d seen death many times. It never got easier. There was always a part of the process that hit Cole: those left behind. He and his team would move on, and someone would be left explaining to their target’s family that they had lost their loved one.

  He’d stuck around once, early in his career with the HDPU, curious to see what happened to the body. Lingering at the scene, he’d stayed only long enough to see the prisoner’s lover wake to find a body hanging from the end of the top bunk with a rope handcrafted from bedsheets tight around their neck. The hellhound’s primal canine instincts had piqued his protective streak and, with fangs elongating and vision turning crimson, he’d cloaked the body from the cellmate’s sight. However, the damage had been done—to both the lover and Cole. He’d been reprimanded for using his powers and shifting out of turn… but only briefly; Seke recognized the impact the scene had had and knew Cole learned his lesson. No lecture needed.

  And he had. Ever since, he’d remained stoic and distant. And once their target had successfully crossed to the other side, he always ensured his girls were escorted out swiftly. They didn’t need to see that aftermath.

  Recalling the banshee he’d locked in an isolation cell, Cole felt a brief wave of sympathy. She was not one of his girls. Aria would be left behind.

  But they couldn’t leave yet. The guard was still connected to his corporeal form by a thread.

  “Mmm. I’d wait, but... ain’t my fault Seke’s late.” Jessica spoke through a final mouthful, and the guard’s shade gagged.

  “He should be here soon,” speaking from his watchdog position, Cole’s voice was slightly strained from keeping his hold on their hidden state for so long.

  If anyone were looking, they might see more than a hint of the hellhound in his expression as his hold on his human side slipped as he exhausted himself. That was fine; it might scare off any of the stirring injured lying around if they could see through the weakening veil.

  A nagging stressor wasn’t helping. Seke had never been late. As if by omniscient awareness, the god always knew exactly when to appear despite the exact TOD being a mystery. Being a god of the underworld, maybe he felt when a judgment needed to be delivered.

  “Wha… what is she doing?” Shock had faded finally, and the guard spoke in an echoing sort of fuzziness like an old radio.

  No one reacted to Michaels. But Raven asked in a quiet voice, “Where do you think he is?”

  “Coming,” Cole reiterated, his growl giving away his own misgivings.

  “Ember’s the hothead. You best cool down, y’all,” Jessica suggested after an audible swallow. “Your vibes are putting me off my meal—.”

  “He’s coming,” Raven butted in. Unlike Cole’s statement, hers was emphatic, not insistent. “And… No way.”

  Jessica dropped something that landed with a sickly wet splat. “Well, I’ll be.”

  Cole spoke up, having turned too. “I told you he’d—” Seeing what everyone else had, his sentence cut off.

  The phantom turned to look too, seeming to be influenced by the herd mentality. He was fast losing his humanity, the action more submissively rote than consciously curious.

  “He brought the banshee?” Raven was not happy.

  “I’ll gladly take a bite out of her instead,” Jessica mumbled, shock and rage coloring her tone as well.

  Cole was floored by their captain’s actions.

  Dressed as a guard, Seke strode effortlessly between the downed bodies, his dark gaze calmly on his team, a gentle smile on his lips as if he’d made it to a fun gathering and was pleased to see his friends there. His cool disposition was a perfect balm to Cole’s fiery alter ego that pulled fuel from the depths of Hell itself.

  Solitary seemed to have taken a toll on the silver-haired girl in the few hours since he’d tossed her in, her visage downcast as she picked her way around limp prisoners, following meekly behind their captain.

  “Good evening,” Seke said politely when he arrived at the gawking group of supernaturals.

  Billowing silence greeted him.

  His eyes touched on each of them, ignoring their stupefied expressions, before shifting to the floating specter and ignoring the unspoken question that trolled the space. “Well done. I see you’ve prepared our guest with the help of Aria’s direction.” His hand made contact with Aria’s back, drawing the girl closer. Cole noted, with rising concern, that Seke’s appendage seemed to linger against her waist.

  Raven visibly bristled, and Jessica shifted uncomfortably, but neither spoke out against their team lead. Flaring his nostrils, Cole inhaled deeply, arms crossing and mu
scles rippling as fists curled out of sight. This chick just kept slithering into their midst—despite the steel door and lock he’d shut her behind this time.

  Aria glanced up at Seke’s persistent contact. There was some amount of adoration in her features as she ogled Seke. The cupcake had a crush. The question was: did Seke reciprocate? Cole watched with amusement as the banshee’s attention caught on Michaels’s insubstantial essence, dropped to the mauled body, and shot back up to his floating likeness.

  Michaels’s distorted tone widened her eyes. “Who are you?”

  Seke silenced the ghost with a simple wave of his hand.

  “Holy fuck,” Aria rasped, her voice hoarser than before, stepping even closer to Seke, who chuckled.

  Cole didn’t think any of this was funny. “Captain,” he interrupted. “Does she—”

  “I want her to witness what we do. She needs to be educated.”

  Seke was thinking of the larger picture as he always did. With his role as concealer, Cole was particularly cognizant of the ways in which a human might catch on to their existence, their presence. Aria was a dangerous magnet of unwanted attention for supernaturals, getting her out of the limelight wasn’t a bad call.

  However, the god had done himself no favors by releasing Aria from her confinement; she was obviously suffering from hero worship and would be a tough one to shake when they left. He’d have suggested leaving her locked up and marked as mentally unstable as an alternate method for safeguarding their secret. Solitary had put her in her place. Now, Seke had undone that.

  Though he disagreed with his captain’s idea of dragging the naive girl along, Cole stepped back in respect and nodded. “I can’t keep us concealed much longer. We’ll have witnesses soon.”

  Seke held up a hand and called the shadows around them. “You may relax. Thank you. Let us not delay further then.”

  Relaxing his powers, he prayed neither Jessica nor Raven mentioned the fact that Seke had delayed things by detouring to release the banshee. Even if it supported the girls’ vocal opinion that Aria was a negative interference in their work.